


A Sticky Situation

by captainkittycat



Series: Sherlock One-Shots [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, One Shot, Other, Sherlock is a child, bubble gum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:45:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainkittycat/pseuds/captainkittycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Sherlock flips out because he got gum in his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sticky Situation

"JOHN!"

I heard my name yelled up the stairs and immediately flinched. Sighing, I folded my paper and placed it on the end table nearest my seat. 

On cue, the man burst into the room, his face flaming red as he stormed in, shedding his coat. I picked up my cup of tea, looking at him over the top of it. For a moment, I wasn't sure whether or not to laugh or be concerned by the look on Sherlock's face. In the end, I ended up snickering to myself, not wanting to risk setting off the time-bomb of a detective.

Sherlock stormed into the kitchen, huffing about how 'degrading' and 'severely obnoxious' something was, something I still hadn't seen yet. Curiosity got the best of me, and I stood, setting my cup back on it's saucer. Pausing only when I heard a slam of something in the kitchen, followed by a colorful curse, I walked into the kitchen, tilting my head before I felt my own blood pressure rising.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell?"

I knew, by now, the only way to get through to an angry Sherlock was by raising my voice. So, when all he did was continue to rifle through the drawers in our kitchen, I slammed one of the many books on the kitchen table down. This startled Sherlock from his sudden rampage, and he turned slowly to face me, his face still holding all the anger it had when he'd stormed in. I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, but of course, as Sherlock would put it, I don't _observe_ , only see. In this case, I wasn't able to do either.

"What the _hell_ are you doing to our _kitchen_?" 

He snarled at me, yelling something incoherent before finally, he threw a knife at the table. I flinched only enough to not see it embed into the wood, cracking the entire table. When I finally noticed, my blood pressure rose higher, and my face began to flush red as well. Stalking over, I grabbed Sherlock's scarf, which was still draped around his neck, and shouldered him backwards, causing him to choke out in surprise, the anger fading from his face while I held the scarf. Of course, I only held it for a second before letting go; this had happened a few times before. I'd had to do something to distract him from his anger, like force him to sit, tug him down by his coat, and on occasion, pinning him to the floor.

He glared at me, but most of the anger had slipped away from his features. 

"Sherlock, what has gotten into you?"

Sherlock pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and mumbled something. 

"Repeat what you just said, this time in clear English."

Sherlock glared more at me, the anger bubbling back up before he repeated himself louder.

"I got gum in my hair."

Wait. What? I clearly must have looked completely bewildered, because Sherlock scoffed and turned back around, rifling through the drawer with his usual explanation of how things happened, and how there ended up being gum stuck in his hair. From what I understood, he was chasing after a thief, something he tended to do on days he was _unimaginably_ bored, and the 'incredible, sodding bastard' spit a huge wad of his chewing gum into Sherlock's hair and bolted, leaving Sherlock clawing at the piece of minty gum for 15 minutes. At least, that's what I think I heard. Hard to tell when you're avoiding flying utensils. 

"Sherlock--"

"That git won't get very far, considering Lestrade is probably all over this case--"

" _Sherlock--_ "

"And when he gets his hands on him, he'll get his bleeding arse thrown in jail and _where the bloody hell are the sciss--_ "

"SHERLOCK!" 

He spun around, shouting frustratedly at me before his eyes trained on the jar of peanut butter in my hands. "Yes, John, I don't care if you're hungry right now, there are more important matters at hand--"

"Will you just _shut up_ and _listen to me_?" 

He blinked, his eyes narrowing at the peanut butter for a moment before it sunk in, and he did his characteristic 'oh' face, looking at me. "John, you're brilliant." I rolled my eyes, pulling on his scarf a bit to force him into a wooden chair. "This certainly isn't going to be pleasant, but you're going to--" Sherlock waved a dismissing hand at me, tilting his head forward to give me a better line of sight, and I fought the urge to whack him with the wooden spoon he'd sent flying across the kitchen earlier. Instead, I stuck two fingers into the peanut butter and smeared it into his hair, rolling my eyes when Sherlock made a whinging noise. "Oh, suck it up." I grumbled to him, and, as soon as I finished, rinsed my hands off in the sink, and settled back to my half-cold cuppa. 

~ 

Sherlock has been wandering around the flat for the past two hours. Each time I see him, I feel like there is more and more peanut butter in his hair. On occasion, I'm hearing him curse loudly about how some of the gum won't seem to come off. He won't take a shower, no matter _how_ many times I ask, and he won't even bother letting me suggest anything. Sodding idiot. 

Finally, though, he stormed into the living room, throwing the jar of peanut butter at me. Thankfully, I caught it, but not without a confused look to him. Half of his hair now is a cakey orange-brown color, and there doesn't appear to be more than half-a-jar worth of peanut butter left. 

"The rest of it won't come off." He grumbled, flopping to sit next to me. His arms are folded over his chest and he glared at the fireplace, contemplating ways, by the look of it, to get the gum out. 

"I could always just cut the rest out, you know." 

The look on his face was priceless. He made it look as though I had just murdered his new baby bunny. Instead, he stood, stalking away and tossed his scarf on the ground. From the other part of the flat, I can hear the water running, and smirk to myself, picking up my newspaper again. Just another day in 221B. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so at first, I was a little stuck (Excuse my pun) on how to go about this. However, the pieces fell right into place after a while of thinking about it. 
> 
> Feel free to send me prompts and stuff at youre-always-playingyellowcar.tumblr.com/ask  
> I'm always up for suggestions :)


End file.
